Venting

I have allergies. Some mornings I literally want to take my head off my shoulders, wring it out in the toilet, and then set it back. So when I got up this morning and started my nasal rendition of a Formula 1 engine warmup, I immediately took a Claritin and two Sudafed.

I headed down to my hotel lobby for coffee, a donut (okay, two donuts), and a bit of Plan B: Further Thoughts on Faith by Anne Lamott. There I was, enjoying myself, into my second chapter, when I sniffled a little and the only other person seated in the area, a man with a buzz cut, running shorts, and a tucked-in athletic shirt, turned around and said, “May I get you a tissue? I’d be happy to get up and get you a tissue.” Apparently I had been sniffing quite a lot and disturbed this wannabee athlete’s peaceful breakfast. What an ass. I raised a napkin and said I was fine, thanks. He got up and left.

It’s a time like this when my mind immediately rehearses all the things I wish I had said.

“Would you like a bloody nose? I’d be happy to get up and give you a bloody nose.”

“Yes, please do find a tissue. You’re going to need it when I pop you in the mouth.”

“I’m sorry. Did your mom not teach you any manners, or did you drive her so nuts she bounced you into severe brain damage?”

“Little uptight there, eh? Try arsenic. It’ll calm you waaaay down.”

I did not say any of these things in part because I was so completely shocked by this guy’s audacity. It actually took a lot of courage for this guy to speak up. Either that or I really annoyed him. I felt sorry for him, I really did. I had no idea I was sniffling as much as I must have been.